A Silken Thread

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  * * *

  Eugene opened the carriage door for Laurel, but she stopped a few feet away with her arms folded. “I want to ride on the driver’s seat with you.”

  His rare chuckle rolled. “You look as young as Anna in that stubborn pose.”

  She laughed and swung her arms at her sides, swishing her skirts with every sweep. “I feel as unfettered as a six-year-old right now, and I want to ride high on that seat with the wind in my face.”

  He glanced skyward. “Are you sure? Clouds are gathering. We might get rained on.”

  Not even a hurricane could dampen her spirits today. “I don’t care. Not one bit.”

  He chuckled again and gestured to the front of the carriage. “All right, then. Let’s go.”

  Once on the seat and with the carriage rolling out of the fairgrounds, Laurel hugged Eugene’s arm. “Thank you, dear brother, for speaking on my behalf to Alfred today. I was so grateful. And so proud! I hope he didn’t treat you unkindly after Mr. Rochester and I left.”

  He shrugged, his expression sheepish. “He delivered a few unpleasant words. No worse than some I’ve heard in the past. But I meant what I said to him. Especially if they all expect you to stay with Mama and tend to her needs, you deserve a bit of frivolity. Enjoyin’ an occasional dinner with a gentleman, especially in a well-chaperoned situation such as the one Mr. Rochester presented, won’t harm you.”

  He pressed his arm against his ribs, squeezing her fingers against his coat in the process, and smiled. “So long as you remember it’s only a dinner.”

  Her hands began to tremble. She released his arm and linked her fingers in her lap to control the slight quiver. “What do you mean?”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Laurel, you have to know what I mean. The Rochesters are one of the wealthiest families in Atlanta. It appears their son is somewhat taken with you, thus the invitation, but nothing more than a casual friendship can grow between you.”

  The joy that had carried her through the afternoon after Langdon declared her his sweetheart dimmed. “But why?”

  Eugene pulled the reins, and the sorrel turned left. Laurel gripped the side bar on the seat and held tight until the carriage was aimed straight ahead again. They’d left the brick-paved streets for ones of hard-packed earth. The carriage bounced through ruts, creating a more jarring ride, but the wheels no longer clattered against brick, making it easier to converse.

  She tapped his arm. “You didn’t answer me.”

  His lips pressed into a grim line. “I didn’t realize you needed an explanation. You’re an intelligent girl. You know as well as I that the social classes don’t mix.” He shot a somewhat embarrassed look her way. “Mr. Salisbury provides a cottage for my family. He gives me use of his carriage when it isn’t needed for his business. He treats me with kindness, asks about my children, even inquires after you and the rest of the family. But not once in the fifteen years of my employment as his driver has he invited me to dine at the table with him and his family.” He shrugged. “He is wealthy, and I am not. That difference puts a separation between us.”

  Laurel sniffed. “But that’s silly. What did we hear today at the Liberty Bell celebratory speech? Our forefathers organized a country meant to offer liberty to all because all were created in God’s image. All, Eugene! God doesn’t put separations between people based on how much money they have. So why should we? Do we know more than God about a man’s value?”

  Eugene rolled his eyes. “Of course we don’t. But men don’t see as God sees. We understand those who are most like us, so we socialize and form friendships with those who are most like us. Trying to mix the different social classes only leads to confusion and discontentment. Haven’t we seen evidence of it when leaders try to force whites to invite blacks into their work and social circles?” He shook his head. “It can’t be done. Not comfortably.”

  “But it can.” She shifted slightly on the seat and gazed intently at her brother’s profile. “The guard from the Silk Room—remember Willie Sharp?—and a black man are best friends. Officer Sharp said so, and I’ve witnessed the ease with which they relate to each other. So it can be done.”

  His forehead furrowed. “From what social class is Officer Sharp?”

  She shrugged. “He was a worker at the Rochester factory before he took the position of security guard at the exposition.”

  “So working class.”

  “I suppose so.”

  He flicked a look at her again, but sympathy now marred his expression. “Did you hear what Mr. Rochester said about the officer at lunch? The comment about his ‘upbringing’?”

  Laurel cringed, just as she’d wanted to when Langdon criticized Officer Sharp. “Yes, I heard him.”

  “Then you’ve also witnessed disparity between those of different backgrounds.”

  She flipped her hand, dismissing his statement. “But he only said such a thing because he’s jealous of Officer Sharp.”

  The first raindrops fell from the graying sky, large and cold. Eugene tugged on the reins, guiding the horse to the side of the street, then drawing it to a stop. He set the brake, hopped down, and trotted around the back of the carriage to Laurel’s side. “Come, Laurel.”

  She took his hands and allowed him to assist her to the ground. He hurried her into the carriage and, to her surprise, climbed in behind her. He snapped the door closed, sat on the seat across from her, and folded his arms over his chest. In the deeply shadowed space, his expression seemed particularly forbidding.

  “Now, explain yourself, young lady.”

  Had she not known better, she would have thought she faced Alfred instead of her beloved Eugene. But it was Eugene, and she trusted him to support her just as he had at lunchtime. “I believe Mr. Rochester is jealous, because he’s expressed displeasure in the past about my casual relationship with Officer Sharp.” Heat filled her face, but the gloom of the carriage’s interior would hide her blush. “And today Mr. Rochester called me his sweetheart. He said he wouldn’t share his sweetheart with another man. So you see, Eugene? He isn’t worrying about our different social classes. He is seeing me for myself, and he likes me for who I am on the inside.”

  Eugene snorted. “I’m sure he’s also taken with your wrapping. No man can ignore a pretty face.”

  She ducked her head for a moment, both pleased and embarrassed by his statement. Then she met his gaze. “I’m well aware of Mr. Rochester’s wealth. He’s exactly the kind of man I’d hoped would choose to court me, because he will have the financial means to support me…and to support Mama.”

  Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the astounded expression on Eugene’s face. Thunder boomed, rattling the carriage. When the echo rolled away, she reached across the short space between the seats and took his cold hands. “I promised you and the others I would care for Mama until she joined Papa in heaven. If I marry Langdon Rochester, he will take in Mama as well. So don’t you see, Eugene? I can have my own family and honor my promise. It’s the perfect solution, don’t you think?”

  Laurel

  Rain pattered on the roof of the carriage. Thunder rolled in the distance. And Eugene didn’t say a word. Laurel squeezed his hands. “What are you thinking?”

  He barked a short laugh. “I should ask you the same thing. What do you mean by taking up courtship with a man because of his financial standing?”

  Stung, she released his hands and sat back. “I’m not.”

  “Did you not say he was the kind of man you were seeking because he would have the means to afford to take Mama into his home?”

  She slipped her fingers around a coil of hair and twisted it. “Well, yes, but—”

  “Then you’re using him.”

  She jerked her hand downward so quickly she yanked a few hairs with it. Wincing, she shook her head. “I am not!”

  “It certainly sounds that way to me.” He glowered at her. “What if t
he security guard—what was his name again?”

  “Willie Sharp.” She snapped the name.

  “What if Willie Sharp indicated a desire to court you? Would you accept?”

  The question flustered her, but she didn’t know why. “I…I don’t know.”

  “Based on the stipulations you stated earlier, you would refuse him because he isn’t a wealthy man.”

  Laurel huffed. “You aren’t being fair. You haven’t even asked me if I like Langdon Rochester.”

  “All right, then. Do you like Langdon Rochester?”

  “Yes! In fact, I—” She wouldn’t say she loved Langdon. Not to Eugene. The first time she made the admission, it should be to Langdon himself. She folded her arms over her chest and slumped into the supple leather seat, battling the urge to cry. Had she truly thought nothing would dampen her day?

  Eugene rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head. “I’m sorry, Laurel.” He spoke so softly the rain nearly drowned out his voice. “I didn’t intend to upset you, but I would do you a grave disservice if I didn’t warn you to be careful. Marriage is not something to be entered lightly. And in these times…”

  He kept his bowed pose but raised his head, gazing at her with sadness. “Even if you and Mr. Rochester fall deeply in love, you’ll still face many challenges because of the differences in your backgrounds. His friends will disdain you. He will likely disdain yours, the way he did Willie Sharp today. People like to say that love is enough, but to be perfectly honest, sometimes it isn’t. I don’t want to see you hurt. Do you understand?”

  She sighed and sat up, taking his hands again. “I understand that you care about me and want what’s best for me. What is best is for me to have a husband and a family of my own. Yet, like you and the others, I don’t want to leave Mama all alone. I want to take care of her for the remainder of her years. So it only makes sense for me to marry someone who can give me everything I want.”

  “And you believe Langdon Rochester is the one who can do so?”

  “Yes.”

  He sat very still for several seconds, seeming to search her face for signs of untruthfulness. Then he sighed and straightened, slipping his hands free of hers. “All right. You’re my baby sister, but you aren’t a child anymore. You should be able to make your own decisions concerning your future. But, Laurel, I beg one thing of you.”

  Relieved to see his ire melt away, she nodded. “Of course.”

  “Seek God’s will.”

  A chill wiggled down her spine. She hugged herself.

  “You told me your plan,” he continued. “Remember God has a plan for you, too. Please don’t run headlong into a courtship without taking time to pray and ascertain this is what God would choose for you.”

  A band seemed to wrap around her chest, hindering her ability to draw a breath. She hadn’t prayed about a courtship with Langdon. Not specifically. But surely God’s plan must be for her to marry Langdon. Why else would He have brought them together?

  “Do you promise to pray, Laurel?”

  A knot formed in her throat. The loose strand of hair tickled her neck, and she began twirling it around her finger without conscious thought.

  “Laurel?”

  She nodded, loosening the knot. “Yes. Yes, of course I’ll pray.”

  Finally a soft smile creased his face. He glanced out the isinglass window. “It appears the rain has slowed. Let me get you home.”

  Langdon

  Langdon snapped the slicker over his shoulders, plopped his hat on his head, and stepped from the carriage into the curtain of rain. He scowled heavenward. When would this foul downpour cease? He hop-skipped over puddles on the rock pathway leading to the unpretentious bungalow that matched the address Laurel had given him.

  After three days of rain, the ground was so soaked his shoes sank with every step. Dirty water oozed up around his feet. A pair of flowering bushes stood sentry on either side of the porch stairs. Their branches drooped low, their blossoms seeming to stare at the ground. Not even the plants appreciated this onslaught of water.

  He stepped up on the porch and removed his slicker. A swing hung idle at one end of the long porch, and he draped the slicker over the white painted wood and then knocked on the door. It opened promptly, making him wonder if Laurel had been watching for him. The thought brightened his spirits enough to bring a genuine smile to his face.

  Instead of Laurel, her mother stood on the other side of the doorjamb. But she smiled warmly and invited him inside.

  He shook his head and gestured to his muddy shoes. “No, ma’am. I don’t want to dirty your floors. I’ll wait here for Miss Millard.”

  At that moment Laurel hurried from a back hallway and stopped beside her mother. Her cheeks bore a pink flush the same color as the dress she’d chosen to wear. “Good evening, Mr. Rochester.”

  He made a half bow and smiled at her as he straightened. “You look lovely, Miss Millard.” She did, despite the unembellished frock. Mother would fall instantly in love with Laurel’s guilelessness. He hoped his father would focus on Laurel’s delicate face and ignore the obviously homemade costume. “Are you ready?”

  “Yes.” She kissed her mother on the cheek and said her goodbye, then retrieved a cloak—brown, the color of her hair and eyes—from a standing rack next to the door. He plucked it from her hands.

  “Allow me.” He draped her cloak over her shoulders, swallowing a smile when the color in her cheeks increased. He bid Mrs. Millard a good evening. She said good night and closed the door, but she remained on the other side of the lace-draped glass, observing them.

  Langdon fetched his slicker and started to put it on, but then he looked at Laurel’s cloak. It seemed to be woven of wool. It would absorb the rain and take hours to dry. He couldn’t allow her to catch a chill. “Here.” He wrapped the slicker around her and pulled up the hood to cover her hair. “Now, let’s hurry, hmm? Stay close.”

  If her mother hadn’t been present, he would catch her around the waist and propel her across the yard. The sooner he reached the carriage, the less the rain would soak him. But he could only offer his arm and hope her skirts wouldn’t trip her.

  He escorted her to the edge of the porch, and she came to a stop and gasped, her gaze aimed ahead. Langdon’s lips twitched with the desire to grin. She’d probably never seen a carriage as grand as the one he’d brought tonight. Chariot style, crafted of highly polished cherry that glistened like a jewel, complete with a velvet-covered driver’s seat, brass gas lanterns, and an attached shelf on the back for a footman to ride standing up, it was his favorite of Father’s three conveyances. Mostly because it seated only two in the enclosed cab.

  “It’s a lovely carriage, isn’t it? I chose it because the cab is attached to elliptical springs. Even if the wheels fall into a deep rut or bump over a large stone, the ride inside is as smooth as if we were drifting on Clara Meer in a rowboat.”

  She turned a worried look on him. “But why is that man standing out in the rain? He should at least have a slicker.”

  He’d instructed one of the stable workers to don the footman’s jacket, breeches, and stockings kept on hand for special events. The man obediently waited beside the carriage door, hand braced on the brass latch, with rain dripping down his stoic face.

  Langdon patted her gloved fingers, which curled around his forearm. “Please set your concerns aside. Andrew is accustomed to providing service no matter the circumstances. I assure you, he will not complain.” Not if he wanted to keep his job.

  Laurel’s worried expression didn’t clear, but she descended the stairs and crossed the yard with him, holding to his arm with one hand and lifting her skirts a mere inch with the other. At the carriage, she offered Andrew a small smile before entering the cab. She slid on the tufted leather seat to the far side, and Langdon climbed in behind her. He sat and released a sigh of relief to be out of the wet. He leaned for
ward and tapped the window at the front of the cab, and at once the driver flipped the reins. The carriage rolled forward.

  Laurel pushed the slicker’s hood from her head, and droplets of water spattered the side of Langdon’s face. He swiped his cheek with his palm, and she cringed. “I’m sorry.”

  He forced a chuckle. “No harm done. It’s only water. And you needn’t worry about suffering another drenching when we reach my home. The driver will pull the carriage beneath the covered portico, and we’ll be able to enter the house without a single raindrop reaching us.”

  She smiled timidly and then seemed to stare out the window at the driver for the remainder of the ride.

  Langdon observed Laurel’s astounded face when the carriage pulled onto the long winding drive lined with gas lamps that led to the French Renaissance Revival–style house his family called home. Apparently Father had decided to make use of every electric lamp and chandelier in the house, because light glowed behind all twenty windows, even the ones on the third floor, where the household staff resided. The light cast a soft yellow glow beneath and above the windows on the painted white stucco and brought the black shutters into prominence. When compared to the small clapboard dwelling she called home, his house must seem like a palace.

  He leaned in a bit, brushing her shoulder with his upper arm, and whispered, “You’ll be the most lovely thing on the Rochester estate grounds this evening.”

  She cast a shy smile at him and toyed with a strand of damp hair.

  The carriage halted, and Andrew opened the door. Langdon stepped out, then offered his hand to Laurel. Her gaze roved in every direction as she alighted, wonder shimmering in her eyes.

  Andrew darted to the side door of the house and held it open for them. As they passed through the doorway, Laurel gave the young man a smile and thanked him.

  Andrew shot Langdon a wide-eyed glance and made an awkward bow. Langdon scowled at him and jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, a silent message to depart. Andrew departed.